


Into the Abyss

by ferowyn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Did I Mention Crack?, Dominance, Other, Whips, barely even explicit, i mentioned the crack right?, ooohh those whips, this is a crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: The temptation is too strong, the thrill too irresistible, and it has been too long since… since…Or: Gandalf justlovesa dominant partner to... spar with?
Relationships: Gandalf | Mithrandir/Durin's Bane | Balrog of Moria
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Into the Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> I was joking about how for any pairing in the world, I'm sure there's fanfic, even this one - and then I didn't find any!  
> So, I decided to write something myself.  
> That was two years ago, and due to some rather unplanned changes in my life, I decided to share this after all.
> 
> This is - kinda ^^" - movieverse, or rather, the quotes are.
> 
> Have fun ;)

### Into the Abyss

“You cannot pass!” Gandalf roars, power crackling across the three words as he faces the demon of the ancient world, his back turned to his Fellowship.

The Balrog comes to a stop at the brink of the bridge, all enticing shadow and glorious flame, and the heat cursing through the Grey Wizard’s body stems from more than desperate flight and scorching fire. Valar, this beast will be the end of him-

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!”

A fiery blade is drawn from an unseen sheath and the shudder racing through Gandalf has nothing to do with fear and everything with all-consuming, terribly inappropriate excitement. The power, the _dominance_ radiated by the beguilingly dangerous being before him wakes urges he long since believed dead and gone, and the ruthless _hunger_ that emerges tears at his concentration, tempting and beckoning and alluring-

No. He is Olórin, Maia of Manwë and Varda, and will not be taken down that easily!

“The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!” he parries the powerful attack, sweat clinging to his skin and barely holding on to sanity – his conviction the only stronghold remaining in his mind, the last standing bastion in his opposition to temptation.

Oh, it has been so long-

“Go back to the shadow!”

Fire rolls on the Valarauco’s tongue, and Gandalf’s own mouth is dry as his heart drums a desperate, beautiful beat.

His resistance, his self-control, his sanity are falling apart at the seams as the corrupted Maia takes a powerful, unstoppable step forward, flame and shadow all the wizard sees and beguiling power all he feels-

And that, of course, is when the whips make an appearance.

Oh, for Eru’s sake!

Shuddering with pleasure at the sheer notion of feeling the fiery thread dance against his sweaty skin, cutting and scorching in a way he never even imagined, of being at the mercy of-

No. No!

“You shall not pass!”

Roaring, he brings both sword and staff down onto the smooth surface of the narrow bridge, hands trembling where they are holding leathery hilt and polished wood in a white-knuckled grip, his concentration flickering like flames desperately reaching for air even as they are smothered beneath a blanket of darkness, fire, _temptation_.

Upon his own powerful display, the Balrog draws back in hesitation, and their eyes lock.

The istar, who has fought many a battle of will wielding naught but his sharp wit and stern eyes, finds himself almost overpowered by the sheer irresistible wish of giving up and in, of allowing this magnificent opponent the victory he deserves. Of awarding him with the prize of his own body-

It is the memory of his name, painfully reverberating in what little of his mind is still subject to his own will, drawn from Frodo’s lips and coloured with excruciating desperation, that gives him the strength to stand strong after all. He is here for a purpose, sent West by the Valar themselves, and there is not only a Fellowship (made up by half of all but defenceless hobbits) but all free peoples of Middle Earth placed under his protection… depending on him. This, here, is undeniably, uncountably, unforgivably more important than the terrible, enticing temptation ever beckoning-

The Balrog takes another step forward, once more displaying his glorious dominance as he roars, the sound setting Gandalf’s blood further ablaze and ruthlessly reminding him of what is by now a mithril-hard erection, and the stone falls apart beneath the Maia’s very feet. And the Grey Wizard knows – he _knows_ , had the bridge not crumbled, had this ancient _god_ not tumbled into the abyss… he would have given in. The temptation is too strong, the thrill too irresistible, and it has been too long since… since…

Dark eyes watch as enticing shadow and glorious flame plummet into the chasm, desperate relief and bitter disappointment ever at war in his old heart and flickering light still painting the walls and what remains of Durin’s bridge with an ever-changing dance of shapes.

For a few more long, sweet moments he contemplates what might have been, images of flames against his skin and whips dancing across it flickering through his mind in a whirl of frustrated arousal, before he turns away. Turning his back on the fallen god who tempted him like few others ever did Gandalf allows a weary sigh to drop from his lips and thinks of the heavy, terrible trinket resting against Frodo’s chest.

He will not fail the hobbit he has considered a dear friend for all of the younger one’s life, rare though their opportunities to meet might have been, he will not fail Middle-Earth and the Valar-

And then the fiery thread wraps around his ankle, heat singing mercilessly against his skin.

The flames having set his blood ablaze before, barely died down to embers, are rekindled the moment he realizes that he is _caught_. For the blink of an eye, still, he resists, the threat of both death and failure burning behind his eyes in stark contrast to the red-hot fire in his veins.

Clinging to the ledge and desperation colouring his words he sends his Fellows to safety, his sword and staff both lost to the abyss. The Grey Wizard is ever aware of what he is doing, denying the flaring demon who has called him to surrender: Keeping the Balrog waiting. Defying the dominance burning high and reaching out to claim him, subdue him, in flame and darkness bind him.

For this blink of an eye he holds on, desperately clawing his way towards a measure of peace with the attempt to save his beloved Fellowship, before he himself falls prey to the desires of his own treacherous body, his heart beating like drums, hard and fast and shattering, drums in the deep-

And so he falls, Frodo’s terrible, unforgivable scream echoing in his ears, and bliss awaiting him in the fiery claws of his master.

**Author's Note:**

> I did have fun with stylistic devices when I wrote this. Hope you enjoyed reading it! :D


End file.
